Hard as iron
by Lucida Bright
Summary: Gene and Alex get caught in the worst snowstorm to hit the South East for years. Will it be the big freeze, or will they start to thaw? The Dark Hours is the immediate sequel to this story


_A little experiment - something a little different. Thanks to Wombledon and Louella for beta and comment. Will be intrigued to see what you think, so do please review._

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_January 1982_

'Stop whining, for god's sake. This is Surrey, not Sarajevo. It can't get that cold.'

'I still think…'

'Well, go back to Ironside, then, and play Della Street for the night. You'd make his year. You'd make mine, come to that. Bit of peace and quiet on the way home.'

Alex hissed at him across the car roof. 'Just don't think I'm getting out to push when you run into a snowdrift. And it was Perry Mason.'

'What?'

'Della Street. She was in Perry Mason, not Ironside.'

There was a silence even colder than the sub-zero air. 'Do you know why there are no female drivers in Formula 1?'

'Because women have got too much sense.'

'Because apart from not being able to drive, or find their way round a roundabout, or cram their empty bloody heads in the helmets, their big _arses_ can't fit in the _seats_. So be grateful that Audi are more considerate of their passengers, plant your big arse on that seat and _shut up_.'

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They'd driven that afternoon to Milford, a village an hour south of London, to see a key witness. Frank Burnett was an ex-copper, retired four years earlier aged forty-seven, after a bullet from an armed robber consigned him to a wheelchair. Two days before, the said blagger, one Keith Benjamin Chapman, had scarpered from a police van between HMP Strangeways and court on a charge of battering another prisoner to raw meat; he'd already been seen in the seedier streets of Whitechapel, and had been seriously over-enthusiastic with one of the girls at Dilys Nunn's house in Spitalfields. Prison gossip suggested Chapman had a score to settle outside; Frank Burnett, a former DI at Fenchurch East who'd put Chapman away twice in fifteen years, was the best source of information.

It would have been an easy afternoon's work, had two things not happened. The worst snowstorm in many years hit the south-east, and Frank Burnett persuaded them to stay for supper.

Despite his circumstances, Burnett was charming and amusing, full of stories about their colleagues, East End lowlife and local characters; Gene and Alex were highly entertained, and having phoned Ray with the information about Chapman's likely whereabouts, agreed readily to keep the lonely man company for a bit longer. It was a few minutes shy of ten o'clock when they tried to leave; opening the front door, Alex was shocked to find several inches of snow on the ground and freezing air thick with falling flakes.

'Gene – did you hear the weather forecast today?'

'Said it might snow tonight. Wh… _shit_.' He'd come to the door and seen why for himself. It had been dark for five hours – enough time, apparently, for the soft stockbroker belt of England to get snowed under without them noticing. 'We'd better skidaddle before it gets any worse.' Gene pulled on his driving gloves in a hurry.

'We shouldn't drive in this' Alex was definite.

'Stay for the night. I've got the spare room, and the couch is quite comfortable.'

'Thanks, Frank, but we need to get back. Might be snowed in by morning.'

Alex groaned. 'We're snowed in now. It's freezing, Gene. It's crazy to try and get back tonight.'

'When Wendy Craig here stops wagging her finger at me, we'll get off. The A3's an arterial road – they'll be gritting.' Gene shook Burnett's hand and looked at Alex, wildly unprepared for cold weather in her favourite white leather jacket and jeans. 'Come on, Nanny, shift your arse.'

'If you change your mind, the offer's open. I'll be awake for hours yet.' Burnett waved them off and shut the door, too cold for an extended farewell.

Alex nagged all the way down the path, worried that Gene was underestimating the drive. But he wasn't to be turned, and when it came to it, she opted to go with him despite her misgivings.

The car made reasonable if slow progress through the flat streets of Milford, but they skated down the sliproad to the A3 and found it ungritted, virtually empty of traffic, full of snow and freezing fog. Wheels slipping every few feet, the Quattro crawled up the long hill towards the top of the hog's back, Gene unable to see much beyond the bonnet, the headlights bouncing back off the fog and snow. It was impossible, with the depth of snow on the ground, to see the edge of the road, and Gene hit the verge a few times, cursing at each crunching impact.

Alex sat silent, arms crossed, her face a careful blank, which seemed to irritate the man behind the wheel more than any outspoken criticism.

'You're not helping, Alex.'

She ignored the snarl, and smiled at him. The smile didn't reach her eyes. 'I thought not distracting you would be helpful. But you tell me what you'd like me to do, and I'll try my best, Guv.'

He didn't reply, but she could feel the simmering anger.

'Would you like me to drive for a bit, perhaps?'

He turned his head and glared at her, but didn't waste his breath on a response. They crawled past a signpost to Eashing, and Alex grabbed Gene's left arm. 'We can turn off here and get back to Milford. At worst we can leave the car on the hard shoulder at the bottom of the hill, and walk back up to the village.'

He shook her off. 'Do you mind? I am not abandoning my car on a dual carriageway in Surrey.'

'We've got _miles_ to go before we even get over the Hog's Back and at this r…'

'You want to get out and walk back, be my guest. I'm going home.' He didn't stop the car, and she didn't say another word.

The car inched up the hill, through the ever more solid fog, until the road bent to the left and took a sudden downward slope. The car lost traction and began to slide, despite Gene's best efforts, and came to a halt a few yards further on as it crunched gently into a five-barred gate.

He ran through a string of curses, flung open the car door and got out to see what had happened; one step away from the car and he slipped and almost disappeared. He managed to stop himself falling into the ditch by grabbing the door handle, but it didn't improve his temper. In the headlights, he could see the nose of the car wedged firmly against the wooden gate, which was padlocked shut. He slithered round the back of the car and round the other side, to find another ditch a couple of feet to the left of the wheels. The brake lights lit the snow a yard behind them before the fog closed in, but even so, he could see the angle of the slope, and knew two things for sure. They were ten yards off the A3 on a farm track; and they were well and truly stuck.

Back in the car, there was a steaming silence. Gene fished out a packet of fags and lit up, which was the last straw for Alex.

'For god's sake. Now it's a toss up whether I die of hypothermia or asphyxiation.'

'Oh, shut up, you Hampstead Hilda Ogden: nag, nag, bloody nag.'

Alex clenched her jaw shut and turned away from him, glaring through her window at the frozen night; Gene drew so fiercely on his cigarette that she could hear the tobacco crackle.

He snatched up the radio, but heard nothing but white noise; twisting the tuner, he could find no clear signal. 'Bastard radio…'

Alex lost patience and flung open her door. 'For Christ's _sake_. I'm not sitting here breathing in your smoke and waiting for you to give yourself a heart attack.'

'Where the fuck do you think you're going?'

'To flag down a car. We're not going to get out of here without help.'

'Don't be so pigging stupid, it's freezing. And there _is_ no traffic. You'll get frostbite.'

'I thought this was Surrey, not Siberia, so ipso facto "it couldn't be _that_ cold".'

'Sarajevo, I said. And you can die of exposure in the middle of London.'

Alex was out of the door and slammed it shut.

'Don't slam…' Gene bellowed at her, but too late. 'Bloody women...' Muttering, he worked his way through the radio frequencies again, but after a few minutes slammed the radio back in its cradle and got out of the car to look for her. He scrambled up the slope and found her standing on the road, shuddering with cold, hugging herself and stamping her feet. The A3 was deserted, eerily silent in the fog and the falling snow.

'Alex, get back in the car.'

'No.'

'Don't be so fucking stubborn. You'll freeze to death out here. You want to be a female Titus Oates?'

'It's better than listening to you effing and blinding and behaving like a two year old having tantrums. At least I'm trying to _do_ something.' She started walking across the road, calling back at him over her shoulder. 'I'm going back to Milford…'

Gene, cursing fluently under his breath, went after her. 'Oh, no you don't…' He reached out and grabbed her arm; she spun round, slipped, and would have fallen if he hadn't already got a grip on her. He got an arm round her waist and dragged her back to the verge. 'No, Alex.'

She struggled out of his grip, but he wasn't letting go. 'Get _off_ me, Hunt.'

'No.' He shook her. 'Listen to me.' He shook her again.

She was shocked into stillness.

'It's too far, and we're blind. We'd easily miss the turning, or get separated, and we could be dead before they found us. I know you're angry, but this is madness. If you come back to the car, I'll apologise, if that's what you want. But not till we're in the car. Alex…'

She stared at him, eyes wide, suddenly aware that this was no game. After a second she nodded slowly, relenting. In the thick fog, they could only see the faintest glow of red to show them where the car was; they slithered and slid down the slope, hanging on to each other and only falling over once before they reached the Quattro's boot and made their way round to their separate doors. A blast of hot air hit them as they got in, the engine still thrumming. They groaned in relief; Gene flicked the heat control round to push hot air through the dashboard vents so they could warm their half-frozen hands. Alex was shaking, her fingers blue-tinged. Gene pulled off his gloves and sandwiched her right hand between both of his, rubbing it vigorously in the stream of hot air for a couple of minutes before doing the same to her left.

Alex bent forward to get her wet head in the stream of hot air, and after ten minutes she was thawed out enough to relax back in her seat. She looked across at Gene and found him glowering at her.

'Don't you bloody dare.'

'What?' She looked innocent. '_What?_'

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the head rest, heaving a sigh. 'All right.'

'Hmmm?' She prompted him.

He growled, and mumbled something indistinct.

'What was that, Gene?' Alex put her hand behind her ear, as though she were deaf.

'I _said_… maybe you … maybe we should have stayed with Burnett.'

Alex kept her counsel, and a straight face.

Gene caught her eye. His lips twitched. 'Smartarse.'

'My arse is far from smart at the moment. Smarting, yes.'

'I'll give it a rub, if you like.'

That earned him a slit-eyed look, which made him chuckle.

Alex cracked a smile. 'It makes a change, I suppose, being deep frozen, instead of getting pickled and smoked at Luigi's.'

'You still cold?'

'No, I'm okay.'

'We're going to have to turn the engine off soon. There's only about a gallon in the tank, and we don't know how long we're going to be stuck here. Temperature's dropping…'

'… and we should keep something in reserve. I know. I'll be fine.'

Gene grabbed the radio and fiddled again with the buttons, winding slowly through the frequencies, muttering to himself. White noise, whistles, and finally, a cracked voice, demanding to know who could pick up at Jason's Drive in Merrow. Gene was on him like an osprey on salmon, and ten minutes later he was through to the traffic division's dispatcher at Guildford nick.

'Are you in immediate danger, sir?'

'No, but it's not getting any warmer.'

'I understand, sir, but we've got a major RTA on the A31 and we're up to our necks. Sit tight. We'll get to you as soon as possible.'

Less than an hour later, the temperature in the car had dropped way down, and Alex was shuddering with cold. Gene looked at her, chewing over the options. 'Hmph.' He got out of the car and slithered round to Alex's side; he opened her door and gestured to her to shift. 'Come on, Desert Blossom, out you get.'

'Out? Why?'

He shrugged off his overcoat. 'Because I'm freezing my nuts off waiting for you to get out of the _car_.'

'Oh, for god's _sake_.' She got out of the car.

Gene jinked past her, threw his coat on to the driver's side and got into her seat, pulling the lever to shove the seat back as far as it would go. 'Get in, then.' He grabbed Alex's waistband and pulled her in on top of him, ignoring the protests. 'Stop … _ow_… struggling, you daft tart. Just sit on my lap and relax, for Christ's sake. It's the best way to keep warm.' He slammed the door. 'I'd sit on your knee if I didn't think your bones would snap like kindling. Now stop squawking like a spinster and sit still.' Even in the minute he was outside, the falling snow had dusted Gene's hair and there were snowflakes on the long eyelashes.

The Quattro's roof was too low for Alex to sit up straight, so she was forced to lean on her elbow propped against the seat back. 'If you'd told me what you were planning I would have agreed…'

'No, you wouldn't. You'd have argued.'

'I don't argue for the sake of it. Only when…'

'Bolly. Please. _Please_. Stop.'

There was silence, and Gene sighed gratefully. He reached for his coat, and draped it over Alex; he pulled the lapels round to tuck her in. 'You should warm up in a minute.'

'Um, yes. Thanks. Sorry.'

'You know, if you didn't fight me all the time, Bolls, life would be a lot easier.'

'If you didn't give me such a hard time, all the time…'

'Are you aware of the irony in that statement?'

'What?'

'Thought not. Put this in your brain box and roll it round for a second. Do I give any of my team an easy ride?'

'No. And that's another…'

'Oi. I've got the talking stick, Pocahontas, so shush. I have to keep everyone on their toes. So if I let you get away with committing GBH on my ear'ole and flapping around like a demented hen, don't you think that might be taken as uneven treatment by the others?'

She didn't answer at once.

'Eh, Fizzy Knickers?'

She sighed. 'I suppose.'

He put an arm round her waist. 'We are on the same side, you know, Bolls.'

'Are we?'

'By and large.'

Alex chuckled softly, and moved her elbow, relaxing into him.

Gene searched for her hand. 'Warmer?'

'Mmmm.'

'There's no padding on you. No wonder you're nesh.'

'You're better than a hot water bottle.'

'Readybrek.'

'Central heating for big kids?'

Gene chuckled, and gave her a squeeze, and stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. 'I quite like you sometimes. When you're not saying anything. Or doing anything. Like now, for instance.'

They sat in silence for a while, pressed close enough to feel hearts beat and breaths come and go; lulled by their warmth and comforted by small sensations – Gene's thumb stroking her hand, Alex's breath feathering across his ear. The soft sounds of their breathing were the only noise in the deep silence, the world outside the car muffled by the falling snow.

'Gene…'

'Mmm?'

'Have you got children?'

'_What?_'

'Do you have kids?'

'I know what you meant, Bolly. It just came out the blue. No. No kids. Why?'

'Just wondered. You're a protector. A natural father.' She squeezed his hand.

'Me? Bollocks. Hate kids.'

'Why do you say that? You're good with kids. They like you.'

'Who's "they"? I don't know any children.'

'Lucas's kids were climbing all over you the other weekend. Wouldn't leave you alone. You didn't seem to object.'

'His missis is terrifying. I'd rather put up with screaming brats than have to talk to her.'

'You do talk such rubbish. You were having a great time with them.'

He grunted.

'What about Donny? You did what you could to make him feel better. His birthday party… You even gave him a present. As for Alex Price…' She couldn't go on.

'Yeah. Well. Poor little sods. They were nice enough kids, I suppose. Not their fault they were dumped in the shit by their nearest and dearest.'

Alex slid past that one without looking. 'I know you like to hide it well under the bluster and tough talk, but you've got a big, warm, soft heart, Gene Hunt.' She put a hand on his chest. 'Strong paternal instincts. Protective, kind. Whoever needs it. Even your bolshy DI.'

'That's my job, Bolly.'

'That's you, Gene.'

'Enough of your nonsense, woman. You're talking out of your big arse, as usual. Now shift your carcass. I've lost all feeling in my legs. Might have to amputate if I don't stand up in the next thirty seconds. Come on, Slack Alice, gerroff me.' He struggled to reach the door catch, but the seat was too far back. Alex wriggled herself off Gene's lap and squished herself between his body and the door, leaving him gasping in pain as his legs started to come back to life. 'Christ. My legs are falling off. What have you done to me?'

'I've left you without a leg to stand on.'

'Oh, very good. But now that you've defrosted, perhaps I can move back to my own seat.'

'Running away, Gene?'

'Hardly. Need legs to run away.'

'It was nice, before. Being held.'

Gene sighed, and gave up trying to move. 'Put the seatback down a bit, then. The knob's on your side. Maybe you can get a bit of kip and let me have some peace.'

Reclined at a more relaxed angle, they both shifted until they were more or less comfortable, and Gene pulled his coat around them both.

'Come on then, Bolls. Close your eyes. Get some sleep.'

He rubbed her back gently, but she didn't move. Her eyes were on his face, examining every feature in the dim light of the car's interior.

'What are you looking at?' He was frowning under her scrutiny.

'Why do men have such glorious eyelashes? It's so unfair.'

Gene huffed. '_Glorious_? Do you mind? I can't help my bloody eyelashes.'

'Mmm – long, with just the right amount of curl.'

'Makes me sound like a right Mary.'

'Gene… it's a compliment. You've got wonderful eyes. Arresting.'

'Oh, very funny. What is all this, Bolly?' He growled, suspicious, the wonderful eyes narrowed to slits.

'Very unusual colour. Green. Grey. Almost blue, sometimes. It shifts with the light… like the sea.'

'More like cabbage water. What are you after?'

'How did you get the scar over your eye?'

'Which one? My face is one big scar.'

'This one.' She traced it with one finger, a fine line curving down to an accent above his right eyebrow.

He looked away, and didn't answer immediately. 'A pot dog.'

'What?'

'Some cheap ornament of my mother's. Little white dog dressed in a clown suit.'

'How come?'

'My father threw it at me.'

'Your _father_? God, Gene – it could have put your eye out.'

'He broke my nose when I was twelve.'

Unconsciously, Alex stroked the scar with her thumb as though trying to repair the hurt. 'Why did your mum stay with him?'

'He wasn't always like that. I remember him before he went off to the war, smiling, laughing. He came back an angry man. No Germans round our way for him to beat up, so we copped it instead.'

'His own kids?'

'Stu and I were right little Anglo-Saxons, pale skins and blond hair. Stu was white-blond when he was little. Dad got it into his head that Mum must have shagged a Kraut to get us. We had our mum's colouring, but we had his features. I look in the mirror now and see him looking back at me.' He stopped abruptly. 'Don't know why I'm telling you all this. Boring. Ancient history.'

'Not boring. Not history. It's like yesterday for you.'

'I don't think about it.'

'You don't have to. It's there, all the time.' She touched his forehead. 'You said so – you see your father's face in the mirror. Gene…'

'Don't fuss, Alex. Doesn't matter.'

She put a hand to his face and made him look at her. 'Of course it matters. It was persistent violent abuse – for how many years?'

'Till we got big enough to stop him.'

'Is he still alive?'

'No. Died years ago. Booze. Fags. Rage.' He held her gaze, his eyes hard as glass. 'Like father, like son, eh?'

'Gene….'

He saw the tears in her eyes, and turned away. 'Don't need your pity, Alex.'

'I don't pity you. Look at you. You're strong, and sane, and alive. Not remotely pitiable. But it makes me sad, Gene, to think about two little boys living with…'

'Millions of kids survive worse.'

'What's worse than being punished, just for existing, by the one man you should be able to trust absolutely?'

'Plenty. Enough now, Alex. This isn't the psychiatrist's couch. Practise on someone who wants it.' He pushed her away, putting one leg over the gear stick housing and heaving himself across to the driver's seat. He turned the ignition key and the engine fired, loud as thunder after the snowy silence. 'It'll warm up in a bit. Stay there. I'm going to have a look round.'

Alex opened her door and put one foot to the ground.

'No. I said stay there. Leave me alone, Alex.'

She held his coat out to him. 'You need this.' He snatched it from her and slammed the door, leaving her with only the purring engine to keep her warm.

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The AA truck growled away down the snowy street, leaving them standing beside the Quattro, very red under the streetlights, in the whitened landscape.

Two and a half hours earlier, the driver had slowed and stopped on the A3, seeing Gene in the road flagging him down. 'Allo, mate. You DCI Hunt? Sergeant Hobbs said you needed a tow.' He got the Quattro winched back on to the road, and found no damage bar a couple of small dents in the front bumper, but said he couldn't let Gene drive off. 'Roads are lethal; without chains you wouldn't even get over the saddle there. I'll have to put you on the winch.'

Gene and Alex travelled back in the AA man's cab. Gene leaned against the passenger door, not touching Alex; taking occasional swigs from his hip flask, he encouraged the driver to chatter, with little input needed from either of them, till they reached Scarborough Street.

'Let's get you upstairs.' Gene took Alex's keys to open the street door to Luigi's building, and ushered her ahead of him.

The flat was cold, and Alex went straight to the gas fire and turned it on full blast. 'Scotch?' She was back with Gene in the kitchen, reaching for the whisky bottle and a glass, but was brought up short by his response.

'No, ta. I'll get off. See ya.'

As he turned away to the front door, she reached out and took his hand. 'Gene… don't go.'

'You're home now, Bolly. Don't need me any more.'

She closed the gap between them, putting her arms round his neck. 'Stay with me, Gene.'

'Offering me a mercy fuck? Compensation for my deprived childhood? Noble of you, but no thanks, Alex. Not interested.' He pulled her arms away, and was out of the door before she could say a word.

She didn't move for a couple of minutes, her face ashen, then she grabbed the whisky bottle and with shaking hands, poured herself a large drink. She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and took a big mouthful of Scotch, waiting till she stopped shaking before getting up and going into the sitting room, holding her hands to the fire then pressing them to her cold face. She went to the window; leaning her forehead against the icy glass, she heaved a great sigh and closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears.

When she opened them, something caught her attention and she focused on the car thirty feet below. A movement. A tiny glow. Gene, sitting in the Quattro, smoking.

Alex was down the stairs and opening the street door before she had time to think, but she stood on the threshold, not going further.

Gene, seeing the door open, turned his head and looked across the snowy street at her, his face unreadable. They watched each other for a long, long moment.

He opened the car door and got out slowly, flicking his cigarette into the snow and leaning back against the car for a moment, never taking his eyes off Alex. He crunched over the snow to her; she stood back to let him through the door, but he stood on the threshold, looking anywhere but at Alex. 'Suppose you want an apology.'

'If anything, it's me who should apologise to you.'

He looked at her, then. 'For what? Oh. Forget it. Clean sheet, eh?'

'Not really, Gene. I upset you...'

'That's your job, Bolls.'

'…asking too many personal questions. I'm sorry. Didn't mean…'

'I know, love.'

There was a small, awkward silence.

'Are you coming in? It's freezing.'

'It's late, Alex.'

'Not too late.'

He flicked her a wry smile. 'One drink, then.'

She nodded, and the door closed behind them.

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- end –


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